Clint Eastwood knows better than anyone else his meaning as an actor and his effect on audiences, so it's hard to believe he could direct "Gran Torino" without knowing how funny it is.

He plays a racist old crank who sits on the porch drinking beer and grumbling about the Asians who have taken over his neighborhood. Seemingly just another grumpy old man, he also happens to have an arsenal in his house, and he walks around packing heat.

The best moment in "Gran Torino" - actually one of the most delightful of the past month - comes when Gramps happens upon a street gang and prevents its members from assaulting one of his neighbors. "Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while you shouldn't have f- with?" he says in his cool growl. "That's me."

Except that it's not him, not really. That is not the old crank in the movie. Rather, that is the Clint Eastwood of collective memory, coming back to squint and sneer and look absolutely outraged, almost crazed with disdain. That's Eastwood, the action star who was never above it all - whose ice-cold manner only barely covered his rage and amazement at the scum he found underneath the rock. That's the Clint we like, only 30 years later, and stuck in a ridiculous movie.

Last year, Jack Nicholson made "The Bucket List," a so-so effort whose real agenda was actually kind of interesting. It posed a question about the Nicholson persona: How does it deal with old age, and how does it make it out of this world, dignity intact? "Gran Torino" poses the same question with regard to the Eastwood persona, or rather with regard to the most flamboyant aspect of his legacy: What does a guy like Dirty Harry do when he's 78, and does he get to stay that way until the end?

"Gran Torino" doesn't provide a sophisticated answer to that question. Instead, a ham-fisted screenplay sets down the terms of the story with the obviousness of an old-fashioned play: Walt (Eastwood) is a recent widower, who is nasty to everybody. His adult sons are terrified of him. His slutty teenage granddaughter despises him but hopes he'll die and leave her his pristine Gran Torino. He even insults the local parish priest.

But then one day Walt inadvertently does a good turn for his Asian immigrant neighbors, and gradually - grimacing and grumbling - he finds himself drawn into their lives.

A bizarre but endlessly amusing aspect of "Gran Torino" is that Walt insults everyone he speaks to, and yet most of the characters react to him as though they can't hear it - or as though they enjoy it, like the front-row victims at a Don Rickles show. They smile as if he were joking, but nothing on Eastwood's face indicates an attempt at humor. It's things like this that make "Gran Torino" either a bad drama or a brilliantly subtle comedy. Or both.

Whatever it is, it's a movie for people who are interested in Clint Eastwood - not just his work, but the whole Clint thing in the world. He deserves better than "Gran Torino." He deserves a "True Grit" or something on the order of "The Shootist." But then, Eastwood was always funnier than Wayne, always more complicated. His self-awareness is so acute that he can play up the iconic aspects of his legend ("Unforgiven," "Million Dollar Baby") without narcissism, and delve into self-parody without getting cute.

Maybe this mixed-up and weird, awful but awfully likable movie is what Dirty Harry had coming to him, after all.

-- Advisory: This movie contains strong language and violence.

To hear Mick LaSalle talk about movies, listen to his weekly podcast at sfgate.com/podcasts.

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